


Threads Binding

by badawan



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (except sheev but shh), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Dimension Travel, Families of Choice, Gen, Jedi Master Dooku, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Parallel Universes, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, That's Not How The Force Works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badawan/pseuds/badawan
Summary: In the early days of the Clone Wars, Anakin Skywalker goes to sleep and wakes up in an entirely different universe. With Qui-Gon alive but different from how he imagined, a mysteriously absent Obi-Wan and the reappearance of his severed Padawan braid, he's forced to navigate his other self's life in this place, based on the little information that he has, until he can figure out what's going on and find his way back.It can't possibly be that hard. Right?
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Dooku & Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 28
Kudos: 196





	1. Roped In

Over the course of the clone war, Anakin Skywalker has developed the talent of being able to fall asleep anywhere. Never before had he imagined that piles of leaves, somewhat flat rocks or a small patch of grass could possibly be considered acceptable locations to rest, and yet, it's become increasingly more and more common.

Sleeping in a real bed has become a luxury that he rarely gets to indulge in, and while absence makes the heart grow fonder, he'd already been plenty fond of his bed at the temple _before_ having to do with any decently flat surface around.

This is why he lets out a groan and hides his face underneath his pillow when someone _dares_ interrupt his slumber.

"Anakin, are you alright?" a voice – he's not sure whose, but he's exhausted enough that he's not sure he cares either, and the temple is one of the few places that his mind has deemed safe, so he's going to get the rest that he's desperately needed for months, thank you very much – asks.

He lets out a grunt that might be interpreted as an affirmation by someone extremely generous, though really, it comes out more as a _leave me alone_ than anything else. The voice - or at least, its owner - doesn't seem particularly inclined to do so, and really, he's not sure why he even tries at this point, because in his admittedly still sleep-groggy memory, he's pretty sure that no one has ever _actually_ accepted that noise as a sufficient answer to anything.

"Padawan, _wake up_ ." If he'd been more awake, he might have been angry about being referred to as Padawan. It has, after all, been a year since his knighting – well, _almost_ a year, but really, who's counting – and not even Obi-Wan uses that title with him anymore unless he's been especially _petulant_ or _difficult,_ and even then it's become a rarity. He is, however, far too eager for the voice to leave him alone so he can continue resting.

"Five more minutes…" He forces out and then curls up in the corner of his bed, as far away from the door as possible half-hoping that the voice will just _go away_ , damn it.

"It's important to maintain a schedule, Ani." the voice is getting louder - or moving closer, he doesn't care to find out. Had he been more awake, he might have been shocked to hear the nickname _Ani_ used by someone other than Padmé. He might have been outraged by it, even – it belongs to her, has since before Geonosis, since Tatooine, since his mother –

Well, he'd really rather not think about that.

Anakin groans again, but he's too awake now to go back to sleep anyway, so he turns around and stare right into the very amused eyes of –

"Master Qui-Gon?" He frowns, because while he's always seemed to be a magnet for strange occurrences, being woken up by a man who's been dead for more than a decade is strange, even for him.

"I felt something a disturbance in the Force. Are you quite sure you're alright?"

 _Well, I'm talking to a dead man, so not really, no_. 

"Mm, fine, just tired."

It's a lie. Of course it's lie, he's neither fine nor tired, not anymore, even less so when he feels Qui-Gon's worry through a training bond that shouldn't _be_ there, that's never been there before, that has absolutely _no business_ being there in the part of his mind that belongs to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. He tries to send back a wave of reassurance to placate Qui-Gon, and while he can't tell for sure, because he's not attuned to the man's emotions at all, he suspect it works when he's no longer being crowded.

"Well, you better go wash the sleep from your eyes. The morning is almost over. There's tea in the kitchen."

Anakin lets out his third groan this morning but makes no further protest. Qui-Gon seems satisfied with the response this time and blessedly leaves him alone, allowing him a moment to try to process _what the kriff_ is happening.

Not that he's at all sure where to begin with that.

He's in his room but not. Gone is the improvised closet that most people would call his floor (his actual closet converted into a storage space for droid parts, tools and various scraps of metal that he might have need some day). The now half empty bottle of Twi'lek liquor Aayla had gifted him after his knighting ceremony – and then helped him drink immediately after – is no longer in its usual hiding spot under his bed. There are no holos of racing pods on his wall above his bed.

There are trinkets on his bedside table he doesn't recognize. A couple of strange rocks. An ornate box. A holo portrait of him, Padmé and a woman he's never met before. 

Then there's Qui-Gon. He's not sure what to make of Qui-Gon's sudden presence. His hand instinctively moves to the padawan braid that was severed almost a year ago only to find it still there, longer than ever before, speaking of an undeniable truth that he does not understand and would prefer not to have to think about.

Because he remembers Qui-Gon's funeral vividly. Remembers the fear, the uncertainty about his own fate, Obi-Wan's promise to train him. The pain in Obi-Wan's eyes, the waves of sadness radiating off of him that he hadn't fully understood yet. He remembers the smell of smoke at the crackling of fire and the feeling of agony and grief in the Force, only he hadn't known that the feeling came from the Force rather than from within himself yet.

So how can Qui-Gon be here now, alive and well and older than Anakin has ever seen him before as evidenced by how his hair is now more grey than brown, how the lines around his eyes have deepened?

He really, really wishes that the Force would allow him to have just _one_ normal day.

* * *

He examines his appearance in the 'fresher before getting dressed and ready for the day.

The padawan braid is undeniably there – adorned with beads from accomplishments that are not his and more colorful threads than he'd ever worn in his _real_ life – and stars, he'd forgotten how unflattering that haircut is.

(The fact that Padmé had managed to fall in love with him despite it must be proof of the unconditional nature of her love for him, he decides.)

The scar across his eye is gone, and he wonders what would have had to be different in this strange world that he doesn't understand yet for him to have avoided the fateful confrontation with Ventress that had caused it.

Is this version of him a better duelist? It seems unlikely. At twenty one he's already considered one of the best duelists in the order. Not _the_ best, not yet, but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he will be some day.

And he doubts that his Padawan self would have been able to best Ventress when he couldn't – especially considering that he _still_ has his prosthetic. There must be a reason that he hasn't been knighted yet after all.

Had Qui-Gon been able to stop it somehow? But that seems even less likely. Ventress had _baited him_ . She had _threatened Padmé_. He cannot imagine any version of him not reacting to that.

So what's left? His mind draws a blank.

There's a scar straight across his collar bone that wasn't there before - a lightsaber burn, he realizes upon further examination - and that's gonna take some getting used to.

(Had Ventress, for some reason, aimed her lightsaber differently? Does he fight differently here? From what he's heard, Qui-Gon was - _is_ , he reminds himself - an expert at Ataru, but Obi-Wan has tried to teach him the fourth form on many occasions, and while he isn't _bad_ at it, it's not intuitive for him.)

Other than that he looks mostly the same. Same dark circles, same bloodshot eyes, same mechno arm, and bitten down nails and chapped lips.

Then there's the matter of his robes. Beige and brown and the color of sand and no insulation - this version of him must be cold _all the time,_ how does he stand it? - traditional, very much something Obi-Wan would wear. Very much something he would never wear himself for that exact reason. At least they smell the same as his own robes do when he's not in the field. The same detergent, the same hint of motor oil from his frequent visits to the hangar and the lubrication of his prosthetic. He supposes that it could be worse, all things considered.

He's still not sure what to do about this entire situation. He's never been very good at making plans. When he does, they have a tendency to blow up in his face – sometimes literally (okay, _often_ literally, but he's not about to admit that to anyone, least of all himself) – and he seems to have a natural affinity for improvisation anyway.

The problem is that his improvisations usually involve either his lightsaber, potent explosives or both, and he has a feeling that that won't solve his current predicament.

And so, the plan he ends up making is a simple one.

Find Obi-Wan, because Obi-Wan will undoubtedly know how to handle this. He might even be amused by whatever situation his wayward former padawan has gotten himself into _this time_ . He'll probably be lectured ( _honestly, Anakin, how do you manage to get yourself into these situations_ ), but it will be solved and everything will go back to normal. Well, his version of normal at least.

In the meantime, all he has to do is pretend to be Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan, and really, how hard can that be?

* * *

As it turns out, a lot harder than expected.

After tea (and really, the fact that this version of him drinks tea might be the most horrifying revelation yet), Qui-Gon insists that they meditate together.

He remembers this routine well from his days under Obi-Wan's tutelage, but he hasn't been able to find peace within the Force since the beginning of the war.

Every time he closes his eyes and reaches out to communicate with the Force, to feel the light surround him and let go of his worries, all he gets are ominous warnings that he can't quite decipher.

The light that he so desperately wants to grab a hold of evades him, remains just out of reach no matter how hard he tries to concentrate on it. The Force feels foggy now. Obscured. Tainted by a darkness that feels familiar and not at the same time.

He can feel the suffering in the air around him. The exhaustion and weariness of Jedi and clones alike. The fear and mistrust radiating off most of the civilians he encounters. The hatred within his enemies - Dooku, Grievous, Ventress. The hatred within himself that he's done his very best to bury.

Qui-Gon's Force signature is the very picture of serenity. Firmly rooted in the moment and connected with the life forms around him in a way that Anakin has never seen before. It's awe-inspiring, really, that a man with such a strong connection to the Living Force can find peace through meditation in the middle of a war.

He makes sure that his shields are in place to keep from disturbing Qui-Gon's meditations, just as he used to do with Obi-Wan when he was younger, and lets his thoughts drift to his current predicament.

Finding Obi-Wan is of utmost importance if he wants to return home, but he realizes how much of a challenge that's going to be when he reaches out for his mentor and finds nothing. He knows that Obi-Wan is alive - anything else is inconceivable and he refuses to even entertain that thought, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot find the familiar golden warmth of the Force presence he's clung to since childhood.

It scares him.

He reaches out again with a different goal in mind and finds Ahsoka's almost blinding light immediately. It doesn't respond to him, refuses to accept the leftover threads of their bond from his world, but she's there and she's alive and that has to be enough. For now, at least.

It continues like that for almost an hour. Qui-Gon resting deep within the Force and Anakin shielding as hard as he can and trying not to fidget.

It's a relief when Qui-Gon finally opens his eyes. It's even more of a relief when he suggests they have breakfast.

* * *

It takes Qui-Gon two days to knock himself off the pedestal that Anakin has kept him on since he was nine years old.

For someone so famously without a sense of decorum, Qui-Gon is a lot more keen on enforcing it than Anakin has ever experienced before.

They're currently walking down one of the many hallways of the Temple, Anakin a step behind Qui-Gon and to his right side. He knows it's traditional - the place of a padawan learner - a way to show respect, but knowing and understanding are two very different things, and it makes him feel more like a servant than a student.

For all of Obi-Wan's strict adherence to following the code to the letter - to propriety and politeness and respect, he has never once demanded that Anakin walk behind him. It's not how they do things; for all the things that Obi-Wan fails to understand about him, he understands that Anakin's respect is earned, and that it does not equal subservience.

And now that Anakin thinks about it, no one has ever so much as raised an eyebrow at them for it.

Huh.

And it's not that Master Qui-Gon _demands_ that he follow this particular tradition, not verbally, but every time Anakin tries to walk at his side, he speeds up his pace just a bit, the third time that had happened, Anakin had taken the hint.

( _"Anakin, you must learn to pick your battles." Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. "You cannot go through life fighting everyone."_

 _"It's not_ fair! _Sarin challenged_ me _to the duel, it's not my fault I'm better with a 'Saber than he is!" Anakin runs his hands through his hair in frustration, his nerf tail half undone as a result._

_"And I'm sure Sarin's Master will have a long talk with him about that when he's out of the Halls, but Anakin, you cannot go around injuring every single other Padawan who wants to challenge you." Obi-Wan places a hand on his shoulder slowly, gently, as if he was a wild animal just waiting for a reason to attack."Sometimes you need to be the bigger person."_

_"That's easy for you to say." Anakin grumbles without any real conviction, and earns himself another sigh from his Master._

_"On the contrary, I know how difficult it is, and it takes a lot of practice," He squeezes Anakin's shoulder then, "but I have faith that you can do it."_ )

Anakin thinks to himself that Obi-Wan would be proud of his restraint. And if not, then he should, because it takes a lot of it to keep himself from snapping at Qui-Gon.

And if he spends hours in the training salles at night taking out his frustration on whichever unfortunate training droid is available? Well, at least he's not _harming_ anyone.

* * *

It's on the third day he fully realizes that this is neither a stress-induced nightmare nor some messed up force vision.

And once the first realization hits so does the fact that he's completely and totally alone in this.

It's not the first time in his life he's felt lonely. He'd felt lonely when he first arrived at the temple, away from his mother and friends, away from everything he'd known up until then. He'd felt lonely after Geonosis, after the loss of his mother and the Tuskens on Tatooine, after he'd been knighted and given his own battalion to lead.

But while he'd been lonely, he'd never been _alone_. He'd had Obi-Wan and Padmé and the rest of the jedi order. He'd had the chancellor and his men and Ahsoka. He'd had Artoo and Threepio. There'd always been a safety net underneath him, someone to help pick up the pieces if things went wrong. A rock, an anchor, a reassurance that everything would be okay in the end.

He has none of those things now.

So when the dam holding back the river of tangled, confusing chaos that are his emotions threatens to crack, he does what anyone in his shoes would do.

He sneaks out to the lower levels, steals a pod and goes racing.

Okay, so perhaps not what _anyone in his shoes_ would do, but surely his sanity is worth a tiny bit of grand theft auto and illegal pod racing. And really, considering the state of the pod before he fixes it up, he's doing its owner a favor.

 _And_ he returns it.

So really, the small string of crime is not only justified, but for the betterment of Coruscant as a whole. Or something.

In any case, it works. Nothing beats the feeling of blankness in his mind when he's racing. There's no fear, no messy feelings, just the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the feeling of the Force surrounding him, channeled into something tangible, something easily to comprehend, guiding his every move.

On the racing track nothing is complicated. There's no uncertainty, no one galaxy to save, no layers upon layers of politics that he cannot decipher.

The only life in his hands is his own.

Qui-Gon it would seem, does not agree that a mildly life threatening street race is a productive way for his padawan to spend his free time, and let's Anakin know when he returns to their apartment well after curfew.

"You're almost a knight, Padawan, you're getting too old for this." He raises an eyebrow in a way that mirrors Obi-Wan so much he has to do a double take. " _I'm_ getting too old for this."

"Yes Master. Sorry Master. Won't happen again Master." He nods as if he agrees even though he doesn't, in fact, plan on keeping that promise.

And really, it's not as though Qui-Gon is in _any_ position to criticize him for pod racing, all things considered.

"Won't it?" Qui-Gon shakes his head and snorts. "Very well, go to bed, Anakin, we'll talk in the morning."

"Yes Master."

Anakin is almost at his bedroom door when Qui-Gon starts talking again.

"Did you win?" 

"Of course I did." a grin spreads across his face without his permission. 

"Good job. Now get some sleep. Imp."

* * *

It takes four days for him to finally break and snap at someone. His former idol just so happens to be the poor soul that pokes a bit too hard at a spot a bit too sore and sets him off.

It starts like this.

They're having breakfast - Force, why had no one ever told him how awful Qui-Gon's cooking was? Respecting the dead is all well and good, and it's not as though he's a picky eater, but really, he could have used a warning - and Anakin is far too exhausted to keep a lid on his emotions.

He's barely slept since he woke up in this - _place_. He's sore from overexerting himself in the salles, emotionally wrung out from last night's adrenaline high, he has a headache because Qui-Gon Jinn is some kind of kriffing _heathen_ who doesn't keep caff in his kitchen. He misses Padmé. He misses Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and his men. All he wants is to go home.

And because Qui-Gon is - well, a lot different from what he always imagined as a kid - of course he has to _criticize_ Anakin for his lack of emotional control.

(And really, given the circumstances, Anakin thinks that his control is excellent.

The fact that he hasn't _screamed_ is proof of that.)

It starts small. An off-hand comment, a backhanded compliment, and then suddenly, it's too much for him to bear and he _needs to get out of here._

"Be mindful of your feelings. You're radiating anger, Padawan, I know you're better than this."

Except when Qui-Gon says _better than this_ , all Anakin hears is not strong enough, not in control enough, _not good enough_. Too angry, too afraid, too impulsive to keep a level head when he needs it. Inadequate. Weak. And because his entire world has shattered, because he's had less than a week to adjust, he decides that if that's what Qui-Gon thinks, then he might as well give him a reason to.

"Maybe I'm _not_ better than this, _Master_." He spits out the title like it's poison and feels no small amount of satisfaction when it makes Qui-Gon flinch. "Maybe I'm just _tired of pretending that I am._ "

(It's meant as a provocation, but it comes closer to the truth than he'd like to admit. The anger is always there, simmering beneath his skin, threatening to spill out the moment he stops trying to force it down.)

"I _know_ you're better because I _taught_ you better." Qui-Gon's jaw clenches and Anakin can feel a wave of _irritation-anger-disappointment_ directed at him that makes his heart sink. "Now if you're quite done with this little tantrum of yours -" 

_You didn't teach me_ , Anakin wants to scream. _You were supposed to and then you_ died _._

"I'm not a _child,_ Qui-Gon, I don't throw _tantrums_ -" 

"That's _Master_ to you, _Padawan_ , and you're certainly behaving like one now."

"Oh kriff you, _Master,_ " Anakin barely notices that the glass next to him breaks seemingly without provocation. He doesn't notice that his own fists are clenched tightly enough that he might have to put in extra maintenance work on his prosthetic arm when he's cooled down. All he notices is the disdain he suddenly feels towards the man in front of him. The instinct to yell, to fight, to -

 _No_. Not that, never that. Not again.

" _Language_ , Anakin."

"I need to go." He says through clenched teeth. He forces his breathing to remain even, deliberately keeps himself from yelling. "Before I do or say something I'm gonna regret."

He's pretty sure that he hears Qui-Gon say something behind him as he leaves, but he ignores it. He needs to clear his head.

He needs to figure out how to get home before he loses his mind.


	2. Frayed and Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon wonders what's going on with his padawan and decides to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments and kudos! II really appreciate them  
> I know it's been a while, but it's been unbearably warm out and Qui-Gon really Did Not want me to get into his head

To say that Qui-Gon is worried about his padawan's behavior would be a gross understatement.

Qui-Gon isn't stupid. He knows that Anakin has always been prone to mood swings– Force knows he's been on the receiving end of them often enough over the last eleven years– and he knows the pressure of the war has been weighing him down, but this is…

Concerning.

Usually Anakin comes to him within a day or two to apologize for overreacting and lashing out. Usually they meditate on the matter together before burying it and moving on with their lives.

Nothing about this i usual.

It's been three days and Anakin is avoiding him like the plague. He'd be half convinced that the boy had left the temple entirely had it not been for the dirty dishes left in their sink and the telltale smell of motor oil hanging in the air of their shared quarters.

And then there's the matter of their training bond.

It's felt– strange since the disturbance in the Force that woke him up days ago. The edges around it feel damaged– almost frayed, and as much as it's supposed to be a connection to Anakin's mind in theory, in reality he can barely feel his padawan's usually near-blinding star of a force presence.

As much as he wants to pull on it, make Anakin come to him, he's afraid that even one single tug on the already thinning thread between them will be enough to make it snap.

 _Patience_ , he reminds himself, as he so often does his padawan. _He_ will _come to you. If only you let him._

Still not reassured, he returns to his tea with a sigh. He really should just wait for Anakin to seek him out. It's what he would have advised someone else to do in his situation, but he's never been very good at taking his own advice.

Time to make a plan.

* * *

"You want me to put _you_ on Senate duty? You? Qui-Gon Jinn?" Their blades crash, green against purple, until Qui-Gon steps back and moves into a low guard, studying his sparring partner closely, waiting for an attack.

"Now, Mace, there's no reason to make such a fuss about it. I _am_ one of the order's best diplomats, or so I've been told." Mace steps forward as Qui-Gon steps back, forcing him into a defensive position. His defence has gotten better over the years; it had to, after Naboo, but it’s still not intuitive and he pays for that when Mace leaps behind him and lands a blow across his calves. “Kriff.”

"Which is scary in and of itself." Qui-Gon turns around to counterattack but by the time he's ready, Mace has already taken a step back.

"Funny."

"I thought so," they circle each other, both trying to find an opening to attack. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that you're volunteering, I just never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm getting a bit restless, truth be told," Qui-Gon leaps towards him quickly and puts as much of his strength as he can into the attack, enhancing it with the Force. Mace blocks it easily. "I'm getting too old for this."

"So this has nothing to do with Skywalker avoiding you?" Mace raises an eyebrow at him and starts a series of seemingly uncoordinated attacks that are too quick for him to actually follow, making it impossible to defend against them properly.

"Anakin isn't–" he takes a step back and stops to catch his breath. It truly _is_ getting too old for this. "How would those two things be related anyway?"

"Because when he isn't talking to you, he's usually talking to Senator Amidala." Mace allows him a short moment of reprieve before attacking again.

It's not fair of him to lean on Mace for this, he knows. His old friend has so much else on his plate with being both a high general and a councillor, with his former padawan in a coma, with the recent rumors of a strange artifact having disappeared from the vaults.

But Mace is his friend– his family, really–and there's no one Qui-Gon would rather talk to about this, barring Anakin who has seemingly made himself off limits.

So here they are, sparring, getting rid of both their restless energies and talking.

"I just need to know that he's okay." The hilt of Mace's lightsaber collides with his shoulder, softly enough to keep from hurting him but hard enough to be felt. "I yield."

"Give him time, Qui-Gon," Mace powers down his lightsaber and attaches it to its usual spot on his belt. "Have faith that he will come to you eventually."

"He's acting out," he starts stretching, allows himself to feel the ache in his muscles, feel how different it is without the exhaustion post battle, how satisfying.

"He's a twenty year old fighting a war," Mace sighs and rubs his temples. "You would too. We all would. Force knows it's hard enough at our age."

"Mace…"

"I'll put you on senate duty. But Qui-Gon, Skywalker isn't Du Crion or Kenobi," Mace puts a hand on his shoulder. "If you keep treating him like every little outburst is gonna make him Fall, you'll lose him."

* * *

Senate duty is much the same as it always is: headache-inducing, exhausting and making him wonder how this could possibly benefit the order in any way.

It's not that he doesn't like being around people. It's not even that he doesn't like being around politicians (though he'll happily admit to retaining a healthy amount of mistrust towards them, as he does towards all people in power), necessarily, but there's something about the senate building that makes the living Force seem wrong. Clouded. Unnatural, almost.

Still, he endures with patience and understanding, no matter how many backhanded compliments and stupid questions ( _there are no stupid questions_ , he reminds himself, but when he's asked for the third time _why the Jedi can't simply mind trick the Separatists to stop the war_ , he has to admit that perhaps, not all questions are good ones).

He hasn't felt this tense in ages, not even on the battlefield, and he's contemplating just returning to the temple and meditating until he manages to find even a little bit of calm, when he finally spots the woman he's spent all day looking for.

"Master Jinn! It's been a while," Padmé Amidala smiles brightly at him when he approaches. "I trust you are well?"

"As well as can be expected, Senator." He replies neutrally, closing his eyes for a short moment, willing himself to let go of the tension he's been holding on to all day.

"Of course, sorry, I didn't think, I–" 

"Padmé. You have nothing to be sorry about," he reassures her with a gentle smile, before offering her his arm. "Walk with me?"

"I'd be happy to," she responds, linking their arms together. "How are your men doing? I hear Ryloth was difficult for them."

"We took heavy losses," he sighs, trying to force the memory of Anakin losing an entire squadron out of his head. Better to live in the present. "They're recovering well, given the circumstances. And Kyra?"

"Kyra is well too," Padmé's whole face lights up at the mention of her wife, and for a short moment the Force feels clearer. "She's back on Alderaan right now, running an errand for the Queen."

"I see," they take a turn down one of the many long hallways of the senate building. "I hope she enjoys herself. Alderaan is lovely this time of year."

"It is indeed." Padmé stops in front of an office door. "This is me, would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

"If it's not any trouble," he smiles neutrally. "I know how busy you are, especially now."

"You helped save my planet, Master Jinn," she opens the door and gestures for him to follow her inside. "I'm never too busy for you."

"Then I will take you up on that offer."

They sit in silence for a moment as she messages her assistant to request a pot of tea, and he lets his gaze wander around her office.

Compared to his own on _The Enlightened_ , it's almost shockingly large. It feels more like a conference room than an office; meant to host committees rather than do paperwork.

It's deliberately impersonal. The art and decor follows the fashion of the upper levels of Coruscant. The only holograph is one of Padmé and Kyra Ulgo from their wedding, and even that looks staged. And yet Padmé's presence makes it feel warm and welcoming. Lived in.

"Master Jinn–" 

"Senator–"

They both stop and stare at each other for a moment before sharing a laugh.

"You first," Padmé concedes.

"I must admit that I do have an ulterior motive in coming here," he clears his throat and leans back into his chair.

"No, you? And here I thought you just wanted to spend your day in the company of politicians," her mirthful smile is bright and there's an unmistakable spark of mischief in her eyes that he knows all too well from having raised four padawans.

"Why do I get the feeling you're making fun of me, Senator?"

"Why, Master Jinn, I would never," she holds a hand over her heart as if to look affronted and he can't help but laugh.

After a moment, his face grows serious. "It's about Anakin."

"I see," she mirrors his expression. "I'm afraid I can't be of much help there. It's been almost three weeks since I last heard from him."

"Did he seem… Off when you did?"

He knows he might be overstepping. Anakin would not appreciate Padmé being involved if he knew, but Qui-Gon can't find it in himself to feel remorseful. He has reason to be concerned, after all. As much as Mace wants to claim that it's to be expected, Anakin's anger had felt–wrong in the Force. If Anakin's presence was like a sun, his anger was a supernova, about to blow up any second. It had been frightening.

"No more than usual. Losing his squadron on Ryloth took its toll on him As you know," she studies his face for a moment and then frowns. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he sighs and runs a hand over his face. "I'm probably worrying too much."

"Perhaps you need a distraction?"

Padmé may be kind and gentle, but she's also a politician, and he _knows_ a politician's trap when he sees one.

"What did you have in mind?"

The thing about traps, though, is that for all his Master's attempts at teaching him, he's never learned how to get out of one. He usually walks into them with a lot more confidence than he has, perhaps, earned, and then uses them to his advantage if possible.

And because he knows Padmé, he knows that there's no way out of this one.

* * *

There's no denying the beauty of the Coruscant opera house. Its golden Onderonian marble walls are carved in intricate floral patterns, the floors are covered in red and purple luxurious velvet carpet and the whole entrance hall is lit up by uplit crystal chandeliers.

It's almost perversely decadent; fancy for the sake of being fancy, not unlike the many castles and palaces Qui-Gon has visited on various diplomatic missions.

So of course, just to be contrary he comes dressed in his simplest, most humble jedi robes.

(It's not that he doesn't appreciate the invitation. He knows that Padmé means well, but spending his evening making small talk with the rich and powerful is not his usual idea of fun.

He has a sneaking suspicion that she's amused by how out of place he is.)

He shouldn't be surprised to spot his former master at the opera; Yan Dooku has always been fascinated with what he considers to be proper cultural pursuits. Qui-Gon still remembers how horribly out of place he'd felt as a padawan when Master Dooku decided it was time to expand his horizons.

He shouldn't be surprised but he is, because last he heard, Dooku was in the mid rim with the 212th. He takes a moment to mentally prepare himself while the elder man approaches.

"Qui-Gon," his former Master offers him a barely there, but somehow still genuine smile.

"Master," he bows his head respectfully.

"Oh, none of that, now. I haven't been your Master for decades," Dooku gives him a quick once-over, eyeing his robes critically before continuing, "and I can't have been a very good one, as you've evidently never learned how to dress yourself."

"And yet you've never stopped telling me what to do."

To the untrained eye, Dooku looks stoic as ever. Tall and solid and imposing, regal and elegant, almost intimidating. Every bit the high general and councilor that he is. Qui-Gon, however, can see the mirth in his eyes, feel the amusement and fondness radiate from him in the Force, despite the fact that he could shield it off easily if he wanted to.

People rarely believe him when he tells them that Dooku was a kind and attentive master, that no matter how ill-matched they may have seemed, he has never once doubted that Dooku cares about him and his well-being.

"One of the only perks of being on the council, it would seem," Dooku snorts; tries to play the _only_ off as a joke, but now that Qui-Gon is looking, the dark circles under his eyes are much more prominent than they should be, and the way he balances his weight on one leg instead of both of them as he tends to favor is concerning.

Dooku is an old man, he reminds himself, no matter how active he is. If _he's_ getting too old to fight a war, he cannot imagine the toll it must be taking on his old master.

He knows that Dooku won't appreciate his concern, though. That he likes to hide his vulnerability, his weaknesses, behind a dozen different facades, so instead he says, "did you follow me to the opera to lord your status as a councilor over me?"

"Of course not, Qui-Gon, don't be absurd. You know I enjoy these events," Qui-Gon is fairly sure that he sees Dooku _smirk_ , but it's gone a moment later and it might have just been his imagination playing tricks on him. He _is_ tired. "In fact, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid Senator Amidala bullied me into attending. Something about needing a distraction from the war."

"Now, that I would have liked to see," there's definitely a smirk this time. He tries not to bristle.

"Oh, that I don't doubt."

"I was surprised when I heard that you'd requested senate duty," Dooku regards him with curiosity, "I was convinced that Mace was playing a joke on me when he told me. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Don't be obtuse, Qui-Gon, it doesn't suit you, why Senate duty? I'd ask if you'd finally gotten over your childish fear of politicians but you've never been particularly receptive to letting go of your preconceived notions."

Ah yes. The age old debate between them. Dooku favors the company of those in power, he knows. His networking skills are almost legendary and there's a reason that he's the order's go-to man for just about anything political.

Where Qui-Gon is skilled at befriending the locals of any planet he's sent to, Dooku's skills are in befriending the leadership. It makes them an efficient team, and it's one of the reason they're still sent on missions together in spite of the fact that they haven't been master and padawan for over thirty years.

"I have no issue with politicians," he argues, for the principle of it more than anything. He _does_ have an issue with politicians, they both know it; the whole order does, but that doesn't mean he appreciates being lectured about it. "In fact, I have several friends that are politicians."

"Ah yes. Organa, Amidala and Valorum. Three whole politicians. If you're going to lie to my face, Qui-Gon, at least do better than that."

"I'd argue that distrusting the people in power is a healthy," he would; he _has_ with Anakin many times. Anakin shares none of his reservations about politician. It wouldn't be so concerning if he'd at the very least _question_ their motives, but he seems adamant that they have his best interest at heart.

"You'd argue just about anything, _Padawan,_ " Dooku snorts and raises an eyebrow. "That doesn't make you wise, just argumentative."

He does bristle this time.

"Did you want something, Master?" His tone is more petulant than he'd like to admit.

Dooku's face grows serious. "It's been a while since we've been on Coruscant at the same time, I simply wanted to make sure that my old Padawan was safe and uninjured."

"You could have found that out from my mission reports," Qui-Gon points out mostly because he wants to see if he can push his old master to verbalize his feelings, if only a little bit.

"It's not the same as seeing for myself. I do worry, you know, even if you don't think me capable of it," Dooku clears his throat and looks at something behind Qui-Gon. "Now, I think I see Jenza over by the bar. Goodbye, Qui-Gon. Enjoy yourself."

"Goodbye, Master. You know I won't."

* * *

It's another several days before he decides swallow his pride–not easily done, nor something he would do for just anyone–and seek out Anakin himself.

It's not hard to find his padawan. There are only two places he can be in the temple, really, since Aayla and Barriss are both offworld and he's not in his quarters, which limits his search to the hangar and the training salles.

It's the salles where he finds Anakin, sweaty and tired-looking and too busy repeatedly hitting a training droid with his lightsaber without finesse to notice Qui-Gon's arrival.

"Do you want to talk about it," Anakin startles and almost drops his saber before he turns to scowl at Qui-Gon. "Or would you prefer to smash the poor training droid?"

"Nothing to talk about," Anakin replies, but he goes rigid and his eyebrows draw together in a truly impressive frown.

"Anakin–"

"Am I not allowed to train now?" He starts pacing and crosses his arms over his chest, unlit saber still on his hand.

" _Anakin_."

" _Fine_ ," he spits out the word and starts to storm off. "Then I'm gonna go take a shower. _Master_."

"Anakin, wait."

Anakin pauses, his back still turned to Qui-Gon.

" _What?_ " 

"I'm worried about you," he says, looking at Anakin's back as if staring long enough will make his padawan turn around and actually talk to him. "You've been–off lately."

"Any other ways I'm not good enough that you'd like to share?"

Qui-Gon gets his wish–Anakin turns to face him, but the way his nails are digging into the palm of his hand concerns him. Anakin's chin is raised in an attempt at defiance, but his eyes are wide and full of emotion and his lower lip is wobbling slightly.

"What?" he asks, stunned, not sure what else to say.

"It seems to me that all you've been doing the last tenday is tell me how big of a failure I am," his voice cracks at the last words and his eyes find the floor, chin no longer raised.

"Ani, I _don't_ think you're a failure," he sighs, not sure how to handle such a display of emotion. "You're a brilliant jedi, you're _very_ skilled in combat, your strength in the Force is unparalleled, but–" 

"But _what?_ "

"You are young and you are fighting a war. I am not so foolish as to think it doesn't affect you."

Anakin goes still for a moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is a quieter, still emotional, but calmer than it had been before.

"Master–"

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," he smiles gently and approaches Anakin, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it when the gesture isn't rejected, "but know that you don't have to carry the burden alone."

Anakin leans into the touch gratefully. "Thank you."

They don't talk about it, but they do eat dinner together that night (in the mess hall, Anakin vetoed Qui-Gon's cooking), and that, at least, is a start.

* * *

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when they’re called before the council to receive their next mission; they’re at war, they need all the Jedi in the field that they can possibly get, and it’s a miracle in and of itself that they’ve been allowed to stay at the temple for as long as they have, but he’s been so focused on Anakin that it’s a surprise nonetheless.

"You summoned us, Masters?" He bows his head respectfully and watches as Anakin repeats the motion, a bit more hurried and seemingly less practised. It’s odd; Anakin usually has the utmost respect for the council, always lecturing _Qui-Gon_ about his lack of decorum.

"Time to return to the field, for you, it is. Need you, the war does," Yoda’s voice is serious as it is most of the time these days, and Qui-Gon cannot help but miss the grandmaster who would tease him relentlessly, who would good heartedly push him to take on another Padawan, no matter how annoying it had been at the time.

"With all due respect, Master Yoda, are you sure that's wise after–"

Contrary to popular belief, Qui-Gon knows when arguing will be pointless. He knows when he’s gonna be overruled, knows when he’s gonna be nothing more than a headache.

That doesn’t mean that he’s not gonna try.

"Sure, I am not, if wise, it is. Sure, _I am_ , that _necessary_ it is."

Qui-Gon sighs and takes a moment to look really look at the people in front of him. The mood in the room is serious, the faces of most of the councilors appropriately sombre. It does nothing to ease his nerves about Anakin going back into the field. Not after Ryloth.

"We need you two to hold Bothawui for the Republic," Mace informs. He isn't physically present; he's there through hologram just like the most of the masters are these days, spending more time on the front lines than in the temple. Once upon a time, he would have considered that a good thing. Now it's just another testimony to how much the war is taking from them. "The war effort may well depend on it."

"And none of the forces already stationed in the mid rim can do it?"

He already knows the answer, of course. Their forces are spread thin as it is, too few Jedi to lead too many battalions to defend too many planets. He knows it's a logistical nightmare; Dooku has spoken about it often enough, but he can't resist the urge to argue just a little more, can't quite quash the hope that they'll be given _more time_ at the temple.

(He never thought he'd be desperate for _more_ time at the temple. He remembers the days of wanderlust, the days of always wanting to be on a mission, the days where staying home was boring.

Oh, how he misses boredom.)

"If they could we wouldn't be asking you to. Believe me when I say that I would prefer to keep you away from The General if I could."

He flinches despite Mace's careful avoidance at saying _The General's_ name. The leader of the Separatist army. His former Padawan. _Kenobi._

"... As you wish, Masters."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and both he and Anakin bow to the council once again before turning to leave.

They're almost out of the door when Ki-Adi-Mundi speaks up, voice full of mirth, "and Skywalker?"

"Yes, Master Mundi?" Anakin frowns, visibly confused, not sure how to react to the sudden interruption.

"Please try not to crash any ships this time," Qui-Gon turns to see Ki-Adi's eyes twinkle with mischief. Not a trait the Cerean master is known for, but one Qui-Gon has knows he possesses nonetheless.

He chuckles and Anakin turns red, out of anger or embarrassment is anyone's guess.

"I'll try, Master Mundi," Anakin acknowledges as they exit the chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyra is an OC. She's an Alderaanian noble and one of Bail Organa's aides. She's not really going to be in the story, but I thought it would be interesting to see Anakin dealing with Padmé being married to someone else


End file.
